The Youngest Holmes
by DaringGirl55
Summary: The Holmes boys(I include John, he's like a brother)have their special traits; things that make them different from every body else in the world. Mycroft: The amount of power and influence he has in the government. Sherlock: His observation and deduction skills. John: His kind and caring heart, not to mention loyalty. So, by the title, what's the youngest special trait? Guess? ;)
1. Chapter 1: Bank of London

**Yes, this story is in Arabic! Can't you tell? I mean reeeeaaally! *role eyes* Obviously it's English! No insult intended to anyone in Arabia or anywhere else in middle east! **

**Sense my ideas for my other stories are now inaccessible, for the time being, I've decided that I would start up this one that's been in my head for a while. **

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A figure lurked in the shadows above the Bank of London. It wasn't a child, nor was it an adult. It was male, but too skinny for his size. The figure waited, watching the security guard through the sunroof for only half a minute as the man did his normal routine throughout the bank. Quietly, the boy opened one of the panels, and slipped inside to the beams above. Just as a gymnast, he scaled above the hard, stone floor without miss stepping and falling thirty four yards to his death.

The boy lightly jumped from the beam to the second floor of offices that wrapped around the edge of the room. As he stood from his crouching position, the moonlight from the window he just climbed in shown on his face.

His black hair held small curls all over his head and was definitely a young man. If anyone had seen him, they may have guessed eighteen. Of course they'd be wrong, but, you can't expect armatures to know very much. His hazy, blue-gray eyes scanned the room below. His cheekbones sat high on his young face. His attire was simple; a white, button-up shirt, black trousers, and rubber-soled, black shoes. A devilish smile crossed the teen boys' lips as he saw how easy it'd be.

Naturally, as though it were typical for the boy, he casually walked to the stairs, and smirked. He climbed onto the banister on the side, and slid down as though he were a small child. Jumping off the end, his feet never made a sound as he hit the floor. Where there should have been a slapping noise, or even a light thump, there was silence.

With his hands in the front pockets of his trousers, he strode through the large, empty room, only lit by the moon above, as though he were walking down the street, or through the halls of a school. As he came upon the recipient's desk, he flippantly placed his hand on the desk, and jumped off the ground.

'_Too easy!_" The boy though smugly as he landed on the other side of the desk. It was _all_ too simple! "Too simple…" The boy murmured to himself as he looked over his shoulder and around the room again. Seeing nothing in the dusk, he turned back to the safe in front of him.

Like all bank vaults, it was made of steel-reinforced concrete; a material not substantially different from the stuff they use in construction work. As all others, it would rely on its immense thickness for strength. If it were a vault from the 20th century, it would be 18 inches think. But this was the modern age, and people aren't so stupid as to make vaults incredulously thick so they can't be moved. In this modern era, people typically make them of modular concrete panels using a special proprietary blend of concrete and additives for extreme strength; that concrete having been specially engineered for maximum crush resistance. This means that they only have to be 3 inches thick, and are still stronger.

On the middle of the door, there was a large handle, to make opening the safe a little easier. The long rods jetted out in different directions. Above that sat the combination dial to unlock the large vault.

'_Four numbers… Four numbers…_" He repeated in his head as he looked around on the nearest desks. Most were neat and orderly, as expected. But one desk was cluttered with papers. Upon closer observation, each paper was just a slip, torn off from the rest of the page, and on each slip was quickly jotted down notes of random things that might be seen on a to-do list. This person was _obviously _new to working at the bank, and was trying to get adjusted. From the looks of it, her memory wasn't so good. Yes, 'her', the hand writing is too small and organized for a man. Yes, a man could make this kind of mess, but his hand writing would match. Of course, so would a women's, if that's how they were all the time, but from the looks of the perfume bottle sitting on the desk, she had just gotten the job.

'_Just the thing I was looking for!_' He though triumphantly to himself as he began to sort through all the papers. '_If she's just started working here, and doesn't have a very good memory, than she wouldn't remember the vault code, which would mean… AH HAH!_' He held up the torn off corner of a page that had the code.

70 Left

20 Right

90 Left

10 Right

He stepped back over to the safe, and turned the dial counter clockwise till the small arrow pointed to the seventy, then clockwise till it pointed to twenty, then back to ninety, and finished at ten. There was a hardly audible 'click' and the boy pulled on the door. It was heavier than expected, but that didn't stop him. He exerted his energy till the door was open enough it fit three of him through. The vault was full of smaller safes, open able by keys. '_Simple bit of lock picking…_' He pulled a hair pin from his curls, chose a box, and inserted it to the lock. It took a bit of time, but the small door finally opened. There was at least fifteen hundred tanner lying in that safe.

He replaced the pin back in his hair, and carelessly grabbed a few of the tanner, which would equal up to about two hundred tanner later, and walked towards the exit of the vault.

As he got closer to the door, he realized that it was closing. '_How could I have been so stupid?_' He though anxiously as he bolted for the door. The door was centimeters from being locked, and that only made the anxiety worse.

The door slammed shut, leaving the young boy captive in the vault.

On the other side of the door, two officers leaned against the heavy, metal door.

"We did it! We finally caught the little weasel!" One yelled, part excited, part stunned.

"Sssshhhhh!" The other one said, holding his finger to his lips. "Don't jinx it! The Yard has been trying to catch this guy for months! Every time someone says that, he gets away!"

"Well, how can he get away now? He's trapped in a three inch thick 'prison', isn't he?" The other asked, wondering how he kept getting away.

After a pause, the two looked at each other with fearful glances. "What if he did get out? Would we be punished for it?"

"I… I don't think so. It wouldn't be our fault!"

"Should we check? Make sure he's in there? I mean, they don't call him a ghost for nothing!"

"Yeah. Yeah, we should check. Back-up is already on their way, might as well make sure it's not for nothing. This whole trap was difficult to put together. Hope it's not for nothing."

The two slowly turned to face the vault. They slowly put in the code, and looked at each other before opening the vault. With the door only slightly open, they poked their heads inside to look around. The boy was nowhere in sight.

Fear gripped both of them. "Maybe… maybe he's just hiding. Getting ready to jump out and scare us." One suggested hopefully.

From outside the vault, both felt a hard kick to the rear, and were forced inside. The door closed behind them as they started to panic.

The boy stood outside the closed vault door, laughing to himself. '_Those boorish dweebs at the Yard are so dense, it's sad!_'

He strolled to the large front doors, and stepped off to the side, where an alarm was "hidden". It didn't take much to disarm it, and once it was safe, he simply walked out.

"FREEZE!" A man ordered. Looking out, there was a crowd of officers and police cars in front of him, and blocking his way to the side. Sighing in defeat, the boy raised his empty hands above his head in surrender.

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**Please let me know what you think! It will only take** _5_** seconds to write "That was really good!" Of course, I would like you to tell me WHAT you liked about it, but that would probably only take about another 5-10 seconds. **


	2. Chapter 2: Scotland Yard

**I think people liked this one,so, I'll keep going! **

**I don't really have to say that the only character in this story that's mine is the boy, do I? I mean, seriously! Look at the name of the site! "FanFiction" I don't think any original stories are in here. If people have them, go to the sister site, "FictionPress"! It's a no-duh kinda thing! **

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"Yes, I'll be right over." Sherlock said, disinterestedly into the phone.

"What was that about, Sherlock?" John asked, walking in from the kitchen. Sherlock held his phone in front of him, but he looked straight ahead, lost in thought.

"Lestrade. He says we need to get over to (blank) immediately. Mycroft's already on his way there." He said in a mono tone, as he held his thought pattern.

"Both Holmes boys in the same room." John sucked in a short breath, "That could be dangerous. What for?"

"Our brother." Sherlock answered, finally moving to get his coat.

"'Brother'? You have _another_ brother? How many Holmes' are there?" John asked astonished.

"Oh, just a few of us. We don't visit often, and Christmas Dinners get deadly. We were truly an unruly bunch." Sherlock couldn't help but let the corners of his mouth raise a bit at the memories of the havoc they caused their mother so often. Well, Mycroft was always the goodie two-shoes and "never" did anything out of line.

Sherlock halted in the doorway, and looked over his shoulder towards John. "Aren't you coming?"

"I thought this was family business?" John posed.

"Yes, and?" Sherlock still waited for an answer.

Sighing, John grabbed his coat, knowing it was useless to argue with Sherlock.

The room was pure white, floor, walls, ceiling, everything. The only furniture in the room was a metal table and two chairs, one on each side. A black haired boy sat in one chair, a crossed from a police officer. The boy's hands were interlaced with chains on the table in front of him, and he wore a smirk on his face. His face reminded everyone of a certain someone, but few could ever make the connection. The police officer just glared at the teenage boy.

The boy was first to break the silence. "You know I'm getting out of here, right?" He taunted.

"Not on my watch." The officer sneered.

The boy chuckled under his breath, "5...4..."

"What are you doing..?" The officer asked nervously.

"...3...2..." The officer didn't know what to expect when the kid got to '0', so his did what he thought would be smart.

"...1...0." The officer pulled out his gun and aimed it for the boy's head, so if he tried anything, he could stop him.

Half a second after the barrel was aimed for his forehead; the door opened, and entered DI Lestrade and three men.

Lestrade took one look at the scene and yelled at the officer, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING? I SAID TO WATCH HIM!"

"Sir, he did... he was..." The officer stuttered; he was at a loss for words.

"Told you!" The boy crooned, smiling triumphantly.

Lestrade never turned his eyes from the, now shamed, officer. "Get out!" He barked. The officer scampered out of the room quickly.

Turning to the three men behind him, Lestrade asked, "So this _is _your brother?"

The tallest one had a buzz cut, though he was tall and thin. On his arm hung a black umbrella, though why he had it, was _still_ a mystery to everyone; there was no rain, so there was no need for it. His suit and plain red tie were enough to tell you that he was high up, and not coming down.

The man that stood next to him was slightly shorter, black hair as well, but his hair was an inch or two longer, and curled like crazy. He had a long coat, and a blue scarf thrown around his neck. He didn't seem happy about being there, and scowled at the teenager.

The third man was shortest, and was practically hidden behind the two brothers. He looked nothing like them. He had blonde hair, and wore a plaid shirt and brown jacket with jeans. He looked to be completely lost about what was going on.

"I'm sorry for the trouble he's caused." The oldest apologized. "I can't assure you that he won't be more, but you won't have to deal with it, I promise."

"And how can you make that promise?" Lestrade asked skeptically.

"Oh, you should know me by now..." He replied with a smile, twirling his umbrella. "Come along, Mathew."

The Detective Inspector looked at him like he was stupid. "He can't. He's..." The captain froze when he saw the boy move to stand next to the older man. "How did you...?"

"Why revel my greatest secret? Then it wouldn't be fun!" The boy smiled mischievously.

The group turned and left the room, leaving a very shocked DI Lestrade behind them.

The group walked through the halls in an uncomfortable silence.

"So..." John said, trying to break the tension, "What's your name, then?"

"Didn't you hear Mycroft say it?" He asked, raising an eyebrow at John.

"Yes, but it's more polite to ask. Then again, you are a Holmes. Are all Holmes alike in that aspect?" John asked pointedly.

"In what? Observation? A little bit here and there." Mathew answered, moving his hands as though he were throwing a ball back and forth.

"If you don't mind me asking, why were you arrested?" John questioned, curious as to what this teenager could do.

The boy's face was split by a grin at the memory. '_So that's what Sherlock would look like if he smiled._' John thought. "Scotland Yard's been trying to catch me for seven months now. Every time they have me in their grip, it's like I'm covered in kerosene; I slip right through their fingers!"

"Yeah." Agreed an all-to-well-known feminine voice. Looking forward, they saw Sgt. Donovan in front of them, blocking the path. "That brat has caused more trouble than all three of you combined." She told, pointing at Mathew, who smiled proudly.

"Oh, I'm sure I've caused more problems than him for The Yard." Sherlock rolled his eyes at her in annoyance. He pushed her aside and continued on his way down the hall, with Mycroft quick to follow, to get out of there.

Sgt. Donovan glared after him, "Freak!" She whispered.

Mathew smiled amusingly at her. "Wow!" He made the 'ah' sound extremely lengthy.

"What?" She turned her death glare to him, and he didn't even flinch under her stare.

"Just how you feel about Sherlock. It's interesting, though. You flirt with any guy who will listen, and you hate my brother. Just interesting." Mathew shrugged it off as though it was nothing, but now Donovan was nervous.

"I don't 'flirt with any guy'!" She defended, looking anywhere but at him.

"Of course you don't." Mathew smiled knowingly at her, before catching up to Sherlock and Mycroft. John had stayed behind with him, watching him go about it like Sherlock.

"How did you know all that?" John whispered to Mathew.

"Elementary." Mathew answered cockily. "She had almost three different smells of colon on her body, her clothes were slightly rumpled, and she had bruises in the shape of hand prints on her arms, all being fairly new and different sizes." Mathew listed.

"Wow!" John said, amazed at the boys deduction powers already. "You are _definitely_ a Holmes!" He complemented, smiling.

Mathew also smiled. He'd always been compared to his brothers in bad ways. '_John's a nice guy! Sherlock better treat him like a friend!_' Mathew thought to himself.

While John thought to himself, '_Mathew seems so much like a Holmes, but he's so different. This could get _very_ interesting._'

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	3. Chapter 3: Disappearing Act

**Glad people actually like it! :D **

**Yeah, I have noticed boy OC are ridiculously rare. I mean, there's a few that I know of, but, there's like, 2 in all of the movies/tv shows/books/ect. that I read fanfics for!**

**Yes, yes, the world will end soon! ;) But I've got some "fun" plans for when he meets the rest of Sherlock's "friends"! *evil smile/chuckle* **

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Back at the 221b flat, Mycroft and Sherlock both stared down at Mathew, who sat in Sherlock's red, high back chair, keeping an even an even gaze with the two older men.

"Mathew," Mycroft shook his head in disapproval, "I thought you had gotten over your thieving habits."

"You'd be wrong there, 'Croft." Mathew stated.

John snickered, "'Croft'?" He said, trying to smother his laugh with his hand.

Mycroft sighed, "Yes, an old, family nickname. Everyone has one they don't like; that happens to be mine." He admitted.

"Don't change the subject, John." Sherlock ordered, doing his best not to smile himself at Mycroft's embarrassing nickname.

"Now that Sherlock and I are out of the house, shouldn't mother pay more attention to you?" Mycroft continued, a bit annoyed with his nickname being revealed.

"Thing is," Mathew replied, looking at his right hand sitting on the arm of the chair, "Now that you _are _gone, mother pays absolutely _no_ attention to me. The only way I can get it is by getting into trouble with the authorities. That was almost two years ago, though."

"Yes, then she kicked you out because you kept going higher and higher in your antics." Sherlock said for him, he had his normal attitude going, but there was a hint of empathy, maybe, under his harshness.

"Exactly. Once I was on the streets, it was the only way I could really survive. I kept at the high risk stuff because it gave me a thrill I can't get enough of." Mathew admitted, "It's like an addiction."

"We could help you get over it." John offered, sitting in the chair a crossed from him. "I am a doctor and I've dealt with things similar. You just have to find something else to fill your attention."

"He already has something going for him, if he would just use it for good!" Mycroft explained.

"Haven't you heard what the police call him? He uses his skills all the time. How else could he avoid Scotland Yard so long? Scotland Yard is incompetent, but not _that_ incompetent."

"Thieving? " John guessed. Sherlock just rolled his eyes.

"So, shall we go, Mathew?" Mycroft asked, ready to leave.

"Who says he's going with _you_?" Sherlock immediately questioned.

"Well he _obviously _can't go home to mother, and you are completely unfit to watch a child." He answered as though it were evident.

"Who says I'm not able to watch a child? He and I got along far better than you two ever did!" Sherlock replied hotly.

As the two argued over where Mathew would stay, both were completely oblivious to Mathew standing up and walking to the window. They were so hooked on telling the other why the other was unqualified to watch the boy that they didn't even perceive that Mathew had opened the window.

Swinging one leg out the window, Mathew looked back at John and smiled. Putting his pointer finger to his lips, he mouthed "Shhh…"

John glanced at the quarrelling brothers, and then looked to Mathew and mouthed back, "Will I see you again?"Mathew nodded smiling, and crawling out the window.

John rested his head on his closed fist and waited for the arguing to stop.

"Why don't we let Mathew decide?" Mycroft finally said, but when they turned to the red chair, they finally figured out it was empty.

"Where's Mathew?" Sherlock snapped.

"Well, while you girls were arguing over your hair," John explained, sarcasm dripping off the 'girl/hair' part, "He got up. Don't know where he's gone, but wish I were there rather than here listening to you two bicker."

"This is your fault, Sherlock." Mycroft jeered.

Both brothers angrily glared each other down, the two holding to their pride and refusing to step down.

"Really?" John raised a single eyebrow at the squabbling siblings. "You're going to fight about _this _rather than go out and find him?"

Landing on the sidewalk gracefully, Mathew straightened, looked up and down the street, debating where to go. He contemplated it for about a second before going up the street; he did only have so long before Sherlock and Mycroft realized he was gone. Mathew quickened his pace until he was two blocks up from Baker Street where there were crowds of people. Meandering through the people, he made sure to look and act casual, as to help him blend in.

'_Not once. Not even _once _did they ask where_ I_ want to go. If I had the choice, I'd probably stay around John. He's level-headed, kind, caring, a perfect fit to the Holmes boys._' He thought as he passed by small café's, bakeries, and small bookstores. It was a nice little spot to calm down, not that he was angry or anything, just annoyed that his brothers even ignored him.

'_It's not like you promised anybody you wouldn't steal anymore._' He rationalized. '_But these small businesses aren't enough. What would get Scotland Yard's attention again…?_' He contemplated going for The Bank of London again, but that would be dull and repetitive.

Mentally, he went through every great heist in history. '_Boston Museum, 1990: fake police officers stole $300 million worth of paintings. New York, 2008: Teens Turn 'Grand Theft Auto' Into Real-Life Robbery Spree. Northern Ireland, 2004: Northern Bank Robbery; __£26 Million_. _Mayfair, London, 1975: Bank of America; __£8 million stolen, and only £500,000 recovered.__Curtain road, Shoreditch, 1983: The Knight Brothers took __6 million._

'_That's a bit more than I can do on my own._'

"Where would he go?" Mycroft asked nervous tension all too obvious.

"He's a teenager. He's probably out looking for something fun to do." Sherlock rolled his eyes. Throwing on his coat, he started for the stairs.

Holding onto the back to the chair, John asked, stunned, "Are you _actually_ going to looking for him?"

"Of course, you've seen how much trouble he can get into!" Sherlock answered, exasperated.

John shrugged, and quickly followed Sherlock. "You can let yourself out, Mycroft!" Sherlock called.

Once out the door, Sherlock looked both up and down the street. Spotting what he wanted, Sherlock instantly took off one way. Once John had caught up to Sherlock, he was talking with one of the Homeless people, most likely part of his Homeless Network.

"…just a few years younger." John heard him finish.

"Of course. I'll spread the word." She replied evenly, and walked down the street.

I stepped up to Sherlock and asked, knowing the answer, "So, asked the Homeless Network to keep an eye out?"

Skipping answering his question, he moved onto the explanation. "They cover this city in seconds, where as I could cover it in a day or two."

"Right." John stated semi-blandly. Sherlock turned, and started walking, if it can be called that, and John practically jogged to keep up as Sherlock began moving through the streets, and scanning the crowds.

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	4. Chapter 4: Track and Chase

**Wow! Thanks guys! I wasn't even sure that whole, begging for reviews would work!  
Sorry you guys! I wanted to put it up yestarday, but something was going on with the site. Anyway...**

**Btw, you people rock!Just so you know, you totally made my day on the 2nd! Thanks for being awesome! Especially those who commented! ;D GRaceH208, StoryAddict, and that mysterious Guest! :D You people totally rock on ALL levels! **

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No one noticed as their wallets were slipped from their pockets, and by the time they did notice, it was too late. A polished hand snatched the wallets as he passed, and only when he was long gone, did they begin to pat their pockets in the search for their wallet. He continued to move as he ripped out the money that was in the latest wallet, and threw the wallet to the ground as he counted the money. The credit cards were still there, no point in taking those, but he needed cash because his stomach was warning him that he was on empty.

He looked around at the buildings he was near, and none of them were restaurants, just tall business buildings. By a lamppost, there was a constable, eyeing the crowds, not really looking for any one thing in particular.

"Sir!" He asked, running up to the constable. The constable looked down at him suspiciously, but kindly, "Sir, you wouldn't happen to know a decent place to eat, would you?"

"I know w few places nearby, but I can't let someone your age just wander around unattended. Where are your parents?" He questioned.

"My father is over there, talking with that man." He answered evenly, turning and pointing to a semi-plump man, talking with a flower cart owner.

The constable nodded, "Alright then, Tapas Bringdisa Soho, 46 Broadwick Street, isn't bad." He jerked his thumb to his left, in the general direction to go.

The boy smiled and nodded, "Thank you, sir." And made his way towards the man he pointed at before, when the constable turned his vision, only for a second, the boy dodged away from the direction he was going, into the crowd, and quickly made his way a crossed the street.

As he pushed the door to Tapas Bringdisa Soho open, a little bell sounded to announce his arrival. A fat man came waddling up to me. "Sherlock!" He stated, pleasantly surprised. '_He wants Sherlock, easy!_ _Dead inside. Dead inside. Dead inside._' I repeated over and over in my head to keep the bored look on my face. I nodded briskly, and the man's smile widened. He quickly assured me to a table by the wall, a little ways from the window, but I could still see a all the people who walked by. Yes, I was shorter than Sherlock, a few inches shorter than John, in fact, but apparently this guy didn't care.

"What'll it be?" The guy asked in a strong Northumberland accent. '_Never would have guessed!_ Mathew thought sarcastically.

Rather than talk, as Mathew would have, he just gave the guy a look that told him he was stupid, like Sherlock would have. The man seemed confused, but then realized his mistake. "Oh! Right! Sorry! Be right back with a menu!" And he scurried off.

Mathew exhaled, '_Being Sherlock is a lot harder that I thought!_ _Ok, clear mind. Easier to be anybody else when there's nothing of you._'

The guy came shuffling back to the table with a large, light green menu. "He'r you go, Sherlock. Where's your date today?" '_Does he mean John?_ _What would Sherlock say…?_'

"He couldn't make it." Mathew said with as little enthusiasm as he could. He took the menu, and locked is eyes on it, hoping that he was pulling off Sherlock. The man, annoyingly, stayed planted to where he waited. I rolled my eyes, "Do you truly expect me to answer now? I did come to think, was I wrong to come here?" I asked, letting all the annoyance escape.

"Oh! Sorry. Noyouwererighttocomehere! Ifyouneed,Icangetyouabackroom!" He threw apology and suggestions quickly. Good thing I'm a Holmes or I never would have caught it.

"No, here's fine, if you would leave." I stated boldly, just as Sherlock would. He dashed away fast, and I was left alone.

I glanced out the window. Lots of people walked by, but two types of people stood out. Large men in black suits and sunglasses were one. They were crossing the street, and looked like this was their destination. From this distance, he could tell their motive wasn't a good one, but he couldn't tell if they had a gun in their pockets. The other was a woman in rags. She looked in the window as she passed, glanced at me, and nodded to me. Mathew figured she was a part of Sherlock's Homeless Network, so Mathew nodded back, and she took off down the street.

As figured, the men in black suits were bad news. They stepped into the restaurant, and when asked if they wanted to be shown a seat, they pulled their guns.

"Everyone out!" The one in front commanded. "Except you." He said pointing the barrel of the Gun at Mathew. Everyone pilled out, and Mathew just sat there, looking at the men with no expression on his face.

Once the restaurant was empty except for the four men and Mathew, Guy One said, "We know you're not Sherlock Holmes. Our employer wants to talk with you about a job offer."

Mathew stood up, and looked at them like they were stupid, and then smirked. "You got me!" Mathew said in fake surrender, lifting his hands into the air. "I'm no Sherlock Holmes; which isn't good for you!"

"Why not? You're a kid!" Another one shouted.

"Your 'Employer' obviously knows my skill set, at least some of my skills, but do you know?" Mathew asked curiously.

"We don't need to." Another stated.

"Well, that just makes this easy!" He faked a maliciously laugh, making the men look at each other look to the others nervously.

Mathew did the one thing he was good at; escape. Thankfully, he was faster than the goons. He slid under the parted legs of one and gracefully got to his feet, and bolted out the door. He slammed against the wall, and used it to change my force of direction to the street.

A car almost rammed into him, but he jumped and slide at just the right time, dodging it and creating a blockade between me and the goons. But of course they just ran around it. Sadly, two of the goons clambered into a car, and disrupted traffic to get to me. Just like the nut he figured himself,he saw a parking garage and dove for it. He pick-locked a car as fast as he could, feeling the nervous beads of sweat glide down the side of his face as he continuously looked over his shoulder.

When the car door finally opened, Mathew grabbed onto the roof and swung closed the door as he saw the men run into the parking garage. He ducked under the dashboard and tore off the paneling to reveal the wires that extended throughout the vehicle. Careful not to make noise, he cut specific wires that, when connected to each other, would allow me to control the car without the keys.

When the car rumbled to life, Mathew heard shouting and knew they knew he was here. Jutted to upright position, he grabbed the wheel, put the car into rear drive, and slammed on the gas. They began to fire, but had to dodge out of the way so I wouldn't hit them with the back end of the car. He pulled out into traffic, and many angry drivers slammed on their horns, as he adjusted the wheel to go up the street. Just as Mathew got the car going again, the goons all jumped into the van behind, and shot at him. Mathew floored it and dodged all the oncoming traffic, and they weren't so lucky because they got hit anyways by the black van chasing me down. He could just hear what people must have been saying. "_They're driving like a chicken running around with its head cut off!_" And he very much agreed with them.

It wasn't fun trying to dodge bullets coming through the back window, and try to dodge the approaching traffic. But by some miracle, he did dodge all coming at me. Even in his fear, he saw Sherlock and John on the sidewalk; on the other side of the street thank the lord, watching the car chase. "Hopefully Sherlock is too smart to think I'm here." He muttered, evading yet another car. Mathew saw the London Bridge and knew it was a bad idea, but went straight for it anyway. People moved out of the way as the crazy kid speed through them, but the one thing he knew he could never escape was coming head on. Mathew saw the semi truck driver's face as he saw Mathew coming straight on, and he tried to turn out of the way. The truck veered to Mathews left, so he yanked the wheel to the right hard. Hard enough to make the car spin out of control and eventually turned over in a crashing chaos.

The gas tanks on both vehicles were seriously damaged and leaked over the road. The black van full of killers crashed into the mess, pushing Mathew's car further over the edge until it teetered. Police were quick to arrive on both sides.

Moriarty's men staggered out of the squished car like sluggishly

"Hand where we can see them!" An officer demanded through his bullhorn. The goons immediately obeyed, dropping their guns in the posses.

The truck driver jumped out of the cockpit and ran to the smallest of the cars, teetering over the edge. Rather than try to go for the driver's seat which hung over the river, he grabbed the back axle, which faced the sky, he pulled, hoping to stable the car.

Some of the officers saw this, and ran to help. Though the screeching of metal on asphalt was horribly painful, they dragged the car up enough to get the driver out.

"Clear the area!" Someone shouted, seeing the semi catching fire and the gas all over the road. Most of the officers did so, but one stayed behind with the truck driver to help the boy.

They practically had to tear the door off the car. "Kid! Kid!" The driver called, shaking the boy hanging from the seatbelt. Mathew was utterly out. The driver reached in and felt around for the buckle and the officer prepared to catch the teen. They hit the buckle and yanked the kid out only seconds before the car caught fire. The officer and driver jumped back, both grabbing onto the boy. The officer took the entire boy and led the driver over to the police cars.

Sherlock and John had chased down the cars on foot, and made it to the edge of the bridge to see the crash.

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**Review! Please! See if you can make my day even brighter than last time! :D **


	5. Chapter 5: Spider in a Web

**Sorry this took so long! I've been busy with helping out around the house, what with all the little kids being home and everything. My Mom needs someone to help her drive everyone around to there designated places, the REALLY little one's want someone to play with, and I keep finding more books and movies I really wanna watch/read! Ridiculous! Can't summer be shorter? Just a little?**

**Anywho, here's the next update in the life of Mathew Holmes!**

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"Is that kid going to be ok?" The Duo heard an officer ask as they slipped between the, still lit, police cars.

"I don't think so. He's most likely got a concussion, but I wont know the extent of it until he cooperates." Another man answered. "There is also a possibility of whiplash."

"Who's not cooperating?" Sherlock demanded as he walked up.

"Mr. Holmes, this is none of your concern." Said the officer, who seemed to be in charge.

"Actually, I do believe it is my concern. Now, the boy?" Sherlock walked passed them as though they weren't there. John stayed close to Sherlock, not sure as of what he was doing.

Then John spotted Mathew, holding an icepack to his head. Spotting an angry looking Sherlock, Mathew put his hand down in his lap, and looked to the ground, not daring to face Sherlock.

Seeing the blood trapping itself in Mathew's hair, John pushed passed Sherlock, grabbed the icepack from him, and put it back against his head. "Keep that there, or you're going to run out of blood." John tried to sound largehearted, but he was worried, and not as good at hiding his feelings as Sherlock.

Mathew looked to Sherlock through the bangs that hung in his eyes. Sherlock couldn't hold his blank look any longer. His face split in a grin and he almost laughed. "Well done, Mathew! I think Mycroft is going to be furious!"

Mathew mirrored Sherlock's look and DID laugh. "Oh yeah! Talk about a black mark on his card!"

"You think this is funny?" John raised his voice, as he saw no humor in this at all.

"You're right. We'll just laugh in 'Croft's face when he finds out! Which should be any time now." Sherlock mused. "John, you can check him back at the flat, ye?"

"Of... of course." John answered, a bit shocked that the Holmes boy's weren't taking this "concussion and possible whiplash" as serious as it needed to be. Huffing, John stood, continuing to hold the icepack to Mathew's head.

"Hey, Lock," Mathew said, as he shook on his feet, "I escaped the one thing I never though I could!" He almost feel to his knees, had Sherlock not anticipated it, and been there to catch the dizzy teen.

"Only just barely; and if you treat it right, you wont escape it." Sherlock said seriously.

Nodding, Mathew gripped onto Sherlock's coat sleeve to help steady himself.

All three started walking passed the police cars, Mathew either gripping Sherlock or John for balance.

"Hey! That kid can't leave here!" One of the officers tried to stop them. Sherlock simply pushed past him, making way for John and Mathew.

"Talk to Mycroft Holmes, I'm sure he can work it out." Sherlock stated coolly. Once they were out of earshot, Sherlock added, "In his favor." All three laughed.

Back at the flat, John sat Mathew on the couch and went to his room to grab his medical bag. Sherlock made himself comfortable in his chair.

'_Best time to ask, I guess._' Taking a deep breath, Mathew leaned on his knees, having his hair fall forward. "So where did you and Mycroft decide to place me?"

"If it were up to Mycroft, I'm sure you would be placed in a maximum security boarding school. If it were up to me, I could probably find a way of keeping you around. But, Mycroft and I decided that you should decide, as you will escape if you don't like where you are." Sherlock stated.

'_He really said that? All powerful, big brother, said it was my choice?_' Mathew was stunned to say the least. "I... I want to stay here..." He answered, sounding a bit unsure of himself.

"You'd be better off here anyway. John's a very good doctor." Sherlock muttered quickly, look intently into the fireplace.

Sherlock continued to stare at the exact same spot, even when John re-entered the room. Mathew stayed as still as he could when John started cleaning the cut on his head. Though at times he would hiss and jerk away, then take a deep breath and allow John to continue. After having done said action four times, John finally wrapped Mathews head in a bandage, fluffing the hair that wasn't being plastered to his head.

"That was a nasty crash, mind telling me what happened?" John asked politely.

"I was at some restaurant and the owner though I was Sherlock. Funny enough, I was able to act the part well, but not well enough for some goons of some high-up criminal master." The moment Mathew said that title, Sherlock whipped his head around, a look of fear in his eyes. It lasted only 6 milliseconds, before he stood and began pacing as though Mathew were a client.

"Did they say anything? Tell you who they worked for in some way? Where they would have taken you?" Sherlock questioned quickly.

"Yeah, you want specifics? They said, 'We know you're not Sherlock Holmes. Our employer wants to talk with you about a job offer.'" Mathew repeated, watching Sherlock pace the length of the room.

"Did they ever say a name?" Sherlock said through grinded teeth glaring through the window, not particularly at any one thing.

"No." He stated plainly.

"There must have been something! Mathew, you said their boss was a 'High-up criminal mastermind'. How did you figure that?" He asked crossly, turning to Mathew.

Sherlock's anger finally made Mathew boil over as well. Standing up, Mathew slammed his foot to the floor and yelled back, "Maybe because they held weapons pointed at my head? Or maybe if I looked closer, the fact that they had back-up weapons hidden in their jackets? Or could it possibly be that they said 'Our employer' rather than a _name_? Maybe it was just the fact that they _knew_ I wasn't you, so that meant it has to be someone who can tell _you_ apart from everyone else in this Hades-Held city, which would imply that he's your equal in brains! It could have been the fact that he doesn't want to talk to people in public spaces, if _at all_!

"But you don't think that anyone is as good as you are when it comes to deducing! That may be true, but you don't have to shoot your mouth off on everyone like you do the wall!" The entire time Mathew had been screaming at Sherlock, John had been trying to calm him down; Mrs. Hudson had come clambering up the stairs to see the commotion, and Sherlock taken a step back, away from the raving teen.

Looking to the floor ashamed, Sherlock cleared his throat awkwardly. "I… I never meant to make you feel undermined, but," Sherlock, in one word, changed from sad puppy to Consulting Detective in measly seconds, "The man you call 'High-up criminal' is no mere 'criminal'," He hissed the word, "It's name is Moriarty. The whispers that plotting people hear; the mastermind of all criminal activity; my equal in almost anything." Sherlock's face seemed shadowed as he explained who was after Mathew.

"Funny," Mathew mused, "It's almost like you're describing a spider at the center of a criminal web."

Sherlock smirked, "That's a very good definition of him."

"It's a safe bet that Moriarty wants you for your talent, or as a way of getting to Sherlock or Mycroft." John suggested.

"I'd throw in all I've got on that bet." Mathew replied, flopping back on the couch.

"Now question is," Sherlock paused a moment as he moved back the window, "Where do place you in our little 'game'?"


End file.
